It’s not you.
Is it me?
It’s not me, right?
Maybe it is. It could be.
You’re a good man.
I know it’s true. There’s no doubt about the goodness in you.
But there’s a sadness too.
I know what quiets that sadness in you.
It’s the only time I see the little boy your mother tells me stories about.
Do I want you to be someone you’re not? Someone I see because I want to see you that way?
Or do I see the you who you actually want to be, not just because of me?